A Glimpse of Bliss
by Bonomania
Summary: Pre-infarction. A glimpse into House's past as he meets someone special at a very unlikely place.


**(A/N: I've never written House/Stacy before and tbh, I don't even know why I did today. I guess I had a free afternoon and decided to stray away from House/Wilson. Saying that, I'm off to read some H/W stuff now...I'm having withdrawal symptoms. Anywho, hopefully someone will get some enjoyment out of this.)**

**A Glimpse of Bliss  
**

House was competitive by nature. This didn't mean he always won or that he was always first. Quite the opposite, actually – it generally guaranteed disappointment. For someone _that driven_ by competition, to lose a game was like a mini apocalypse. He'd obsess over _what ifs_ for weeks. _What if I'd swung the club a bit harder? What if I'd noticed the nodules? What if I'd used the nine iron instead? What if I'd seen the twitch?_ Whether it was work or play didn't matter. A game was a game and whether the stake was a crisp hundred dollar bill, or a life, losing was never appealing, nor was it an option – a lesson courtesy of Colonel John House.

Now is no different. Stepping out into the man-made wilderness, black and green stripes smearing his face, he aims to win. He sinks down low, keeping a watchful eye for anything that moves. In keeping with the lesson that has been drilled into his head from such a young age, _this_ paintball arena is _his_; in this jungle, he's determined to be king. He raises a hand and tugs at his visor, lowering his gun for just a moment to fix it in place. Then he hears a shot and barely has time to react before the paintball explodes on impact, sending him toppling backwards onto the ground. Moments after the shot is fired, a woman looms over him, her smile slightly nervous, but strangely endearing.

"I'm sorry, I swear I didn't aim for your head, it just…went that way."

He checks her out through the splatter of blue over his head gear.

"It's fine. Maybe you _should_ aim for my head next time, might hit one of your lawyer buddies," he replies drolly, smirking from his spot in the dirt.

"Very funny..."

"Greg," he held out his hand.

"Very funny, _Greg_." She shakes his hand, but leaves him on the floor.

"Stacy Warner," she says. He lifts his visor to take a good look at her; this in turn makes her blush ruby red.

"You should keep that on," she says, smiling and signalling at his visor, "There are plenty more of us paintball rookies that can't help but shoot at handsome doctors." As soon as she says it she cringes.

_I just called him handsome. I just met him and I called him handsome. Way to look desperate._

"Feel like skipping out of here early?"

"What exactly are you suggesting, _Greg_?" she asks, arms folded, eyebrow raised.

"Come on. You're _obviously_ hot for me."

A hearty laugh escapes her lips and she watches as House pouts, putting on his best puppy-dog expression.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Maybe it's the dreamy look on your face as you're getting lost in my baby blues," he teases. She bites her lip and averts her gaze. "_Or maybe_ it's the way you're blushing right now."

Shaking her head, unable to stifle a grin, she concedes.

"_One_ drink." She holds out her hand and pulls him off the ground, snorting at the mud caking the back of his pants.

"Put your visor back on," she says, "lawyers are ruthless. They'll shoot you, visor or no visor."

He flips it down, rolling his eyes at the tiny hitches in her breath as she, once again, spies the inky blue stain clouding his vision.

In a bid to escape, they sweep to the side of the paintball grounds, hoping to sneak out relatively unscathed.

*

It didn't stop at one drink. The drinks then became dinner. Dinner soon turned into a regular occurrence and eventually – much to House's delight – ended in sex. The kind you remember for days. The kind you actually find yourself worrying you'll never be able to experience again, until the next time when the feeling comes flooding back and you think to yourself, _for once, the world is spinning in my direction._

During dinner one night, he slides a key across the table. He looks uncomfortable at his own gesture and she can see it, so she doesn't hesitate. She doesn't need to. "Do you mean it?" House simply nods at her.

A week later, they're organising the move. Handing back the keys to Stacy's old apartment, House gets to thinking.

_What if she hadn't shot me? What if her aim was better? What if…_ But really, he didn't want to know. It still baffled him that he managed to find such an amazing woman playing _paintball_.

As they step into their apartment, side by side, taking it in as though it's the first time they've seen the place, House realises one thing. He's never been happier to have lost a game.

~End

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**(A/N: You blatantly all just lost _the game_. ;)**


End file.
